Hello! This is my first serious crack at fanfiction. I hope I do alright.

I'd really, really appreciate a beta of some kind; if you're interested please send me a message.

CHAPTER ONE

A Visit to Town

The sun beat down harshly on the roof of the old military jeep, seeping into the paint and widening the cracks that had resulted from years of use coupled with an amateur paint job. The car itself was roaring down the dirt road, various parts clattering around that probably shouldn't be. The copious amounts of duct tape holding the thing together obviously weren't quite doing the trick. Dust billowed out behind the vehicle, like some kind of omen to warn the people of the town ahead to close the shutters and lock the doors. The driver grinned, flooring the gas. The car gave a roar of protest, but it obeyed, rushing forwards. He gave a mad cackle. "PREPARE YOURSELVES, MAGGOTS! I NEED RIBS!"

Much to Soldier's disappointment, no one had retreated to the bunkers or were even so much as cowering in fear when he arrived. His lower lip puffed out in a very obvious pout as he gave the wheel a hard wrench. There was a loud squeal of protest as the car shot into a surprisingly well-executed parallel park, though the left wheels cleared the ground as it stopped. He turned off the car and pocketed the keys before getting out, slamming the door so hard that the entire thing rattled.

A few people on the sidewalk glanced at each other and muttered amongst themselves about how "that freak from the base" was back. He paid them no mind, gaze peering out from under his dented helmet. His eyes locked onto his target and narrowed. Without a word he marched down the street, brushing some dust from his blue jacket. It was still bloodstained from the day before's match; he needed to drop by the dry cleaner's today.

He reached the glass door of the building he'd targeted, shoving it open and striding inside like he owned the place. It was nicely lit, with a cashier and various places to sit. The strains of the Beatles' Please Please Me filled the air in the background. There were a few people seated and munching on their lunches, but not many. He'd beaten the lunch rush by about an hour. He marched right up to the cashier, who was a wiry young woman in her teens. "YOU! I NEED A DOZEN RACKS OF BABY BACK RIBS TO GO, ON THE DOUBLE."

She blinked, looking up from her magazine in surprise. "… A dozen… racks?"

The next thing she knew he'd practically launched himself across the counter, landing on it so that their faces were quite close together. His expression contorted into some cross between fury and instability. "ARE YOU DEAF, PRIVATE? ONE. DOZEN."

"… H-Honey barbecue, spicy, or—"

"ARE YOU SOME KIND OF IDIOT? SPICY!" He straightened and she immediately rushed backwards, writing down his order hastily.

"Yes, o-of course. Mild, medium, hot,-"

"THE HOTTEST YOU'VE GOT, SISTER!"

She took a deep breath. "Right." She quickly went to take care of it. Soldier chuckled disconcertingly, taking a deep breath through his nose. He could smell the ribs from here.

The girl came back after a moment, looking very nervous. "Er… s-sir, they'll be a little while; we haven't finished the next round of ribs yet; they'll be done in two hours or so. I-Is that okay?"

"TWO HOURS?" He glared at her. "TIME IS MONEY, SISTER! I COULD BE SPENDING THAT TIME BASHING IN COMMIES' HEADS, OR YELLING AT HIPPIES!"

She swallowed. "… I'm sorry, but if we hurry it they won't be as good."

He paused, and you could almost see the cogs turning in his brain and the steam coming out of his ears as he processed this information. His lower lip puffed out into that pout again. "FINE, BUT I WILL BE BACK IN EXACTLY TWO HOURS, AND IF THEY ARE NOT READY, YOU WILL BE IN FOR A WORLD OF HURT!" He turned and stormed out, making sure to slam the door very hard as he did.

The girl let out a sigh of relief. Weirdest first day ever.

Soldier grumbled to himself as he walked along. Of course, it was more like whisper-shouting than anything, but that was as close as he was ever going to get. "I SUPPOSE I'D BETTER TAKE CARE OF MY DRY CLEANING," he announced to nobody in particular, crossing the street. He pushed open the door and walked in. "EXCUSE ME, SON!" he bellowed at the young man behind the counter, "I WANT MY DRY CLEANING."

The man blinked. "Oh, um… yes, of course. What name is it under?"

"JANE DOE."

The man let out a strange, strangled noise. Soldier blinked, frowning. "ARE YOU SICK?"

"… No, sir. I'm fine. Jane Doe. I'll look." He hurried away.

Soldier sat down in one of the little plastic seats, shifting into the closest he could get to a comfortable position. The man came out with a perfectly clean jacket completely identical to his…

… save one thing.

Soldier leaped out of his seat, hand going to his shotgun on instinct. The rest of his team had insisted that he leave the rocket launcher at the base. "For your own good", they'd said. His eyes narrowed. "THAT IS NOT MINE, MAGGOT! THAT IS RED!"

"Sir, it says right here "Jane Doe". I remember you coming in and giving this to me last weekend."

"THAT WAS NOT ME. THAT WAS THE RED SOLDIER." His lip curled in disgust. "WHERE IS MINE?"

The man looked like he was going to argue, but thought the better of it once he got a better look at the expression on Soldier's face. "… I'll go look again."

"THAT'S RIGHT, YOU WILL GO LOOK AGAIN!" he snarled, "I WILL GET MY DRY CLEANING, OR SO HELP ME I WILL BLOW THIS PLACE SKY HIGH!"

There was a snicker from behind him. He whipped around, eyes narrowing as he peered out from under his helmet at the offending person. A lithe young man was standing in the doorway, a wide smirk on his face and a metal baseball bat in his hand. His dog tags glinted in the light, and his baseball cap was on backwards. His shirt was a familiar shade of blue that made Soldier relax a bit. He glared at him. "DO NOT SNEAK UP ON ME LIKE THAT, CADET! I COULD HAVE KILLED YOU, AND THEN WE WOULD HAVE HAD TO FIND ANOTHER SCOUT!"

Scout rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever buckethead. What's up?"

"I AM TRYING TO PICK UP MY DRY CLEANING, BUT THIS MAN IS INCOMPETENT! HE IS TRYING TO GIVE ME THE OTHER SOLDIER'S UNIFORM!"

The Bostonian gave Soldier a flat look. "… And you ain't gonna take it?"

Soldier scowled at him. "NO! IT IS RED! RED IS A COWARD'S COLOR, BOY!"

Scout rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. But think of how pissed off the other Soldier's gonna be when he finds out you've taken his dry cleaning." He grinned sharkishly.

Soldier paused, taking a few moments to digest this information. "… YOU'RE SMARTER THAN YOU LOOK, SON."

"Yeah, thanks. Hey, spot me five bucks, would ya? I wanna go pick up a girl and get some lunch."

Soldier scowled at him. "YOU HAVE ALREADY BORROWED MONEY FROM THE ENGINEER AND NOT RETURNED IT, CADET; WHY SHOULD I LET YOU BORROW FROM ME?"

Scout groaned. "I'll pay him back soon! I just forgot my wallet at the base; come on, buddy; we're friends, right? I'll pay ya back tonight."

Soldier scrutinized him with a narrow-eyed glare, which was met with a wide-eyed, innocent look that wasn't fooling anyone. He scowled. "FINE, BUT IF YOU DO NOT PAY IT BACK I WILL TELL THE OTHERS ABOUT YOUR BEATLES ALBUM." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a five dollar bill, handing it to him.

Scout glared at him. "Don't you freakin' dare."

"WELL, YOU'D BETTER PAY ME BACK."

Scout scowled, grabbing the money. "Fine." He stalked off, slamming the door behind him. The employee came back just then with his proper dry cleaning. Soldier was quick to snatch both it and the red one.

"… I thought that wasn't—"

"WELL, IT IS," Soldier snapped, draping them over his shoulder. He strode out. Scout was already long gone, the only sign that he'd been there being a small dust trail. Soldier made his way to his jeep and tossed the clothes inside without ceremony; after all, they'd get crumpled up again anyway. After a moment's thought he hid the red one underneath the blue one. After all, he couldn't have the other Soldier finding it or something.

"NOW, WHAT DO I DO WITH THE REST OF MY TIME?" He looked around the street, eyes sweeping for something, anything of interest to do. A flickering neon sign caught his attention. It was the outline of two green bowling pins in the middle of being knocked down by a purple bowling ball.

A grin crossed his face, and he went around to the back of his jeep. He opened the door, giving a quiet hiss as the searing metal of the handle burned his fingers. He reminded himself that real men didn't feel pain, scowling to himself as he pulled a leather bag out of the mess of his car. He made his way down the road towards the building with the flashing sign, pushing roughly past someone that got a little too close to him. He entered and went up to the counter. "YOU! GET ME A PAIR OF SIZE FIFTEEN SHOES AND A LANE!" he pulled his wallet out and dropped a five dollar bill on the counter. "KEEP THE CHANGE."

The man snatched it as quickly as he could, nodding. "Yes, of course sir. D-Do you want the bumpers up?"

Soldier felt rather insulted at that. He glared, leaning in. "DO I LOOK LIKE SOME KIND OF AMATEUR TO YOU, CADET?"

The man took an instinct step back under his intense gaze. "No, sir. No bumpers, of course. I'll get right on that." He crouched under the counter to get the shoes, taking advantage of the fact that he was out of the sight of the man to take a few breaths and mentally prepare himself. He grabbed the shoes and came back up, pushing them across the counter at him. Soldier snatched them with a grunt of approval, and the employee hurried off to set up a lane for him. Soldier followed closely, swinging the leather bag back and forth slightly as he walked. Seeing another one of those annoying plastic chairs, he sat down and set about taking off his boots. This process was one that he'd perfected, but it still took him a few minutes due to frayed laces. When he'd finished and put on the bowling shoes, the man who'd been taking care of the counter had finished setting up the bowling alley and run off.

Soldier grinned, opening his bag and pulling out a rather large, hefty bowling ball. It was a dull army green, and he'd obviously painted it himself. He held it up to his face and gave it his best glare. "YOU ARE GOING TO GET ME SO MANY STRIKES THAT THIS BOWLING ALLEY IS GOING TO COWER IN FEAR AT THE VERY MENTION OF MY NAME, CORPORAL! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?!" The bowling ball didn't reply, and he snickered. Scared silent, he was sure.

"DISMISSED!" He got to his feet and went to the end of the alley, bringing his arm back and throwing the ball. The satisfying clatter of the falling pins made him grin. A strike; this was going to be a good day.